


Maxwell

by NotWhoYouThink131



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Canon Era, Double Life, Drinking, F/F, Historical Accuracy, I'm not a History Major I'm just an author, M/M, Pre-Hamilton Plot, References to Prostitution, Spies, google translate french, kind of, non-binary Lafayette, references to slavery, transgender OC
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-27
Updated: 2017-06-27
Packaged: 2018-11-19 20:00:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11320656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotWhoYouThink131/pseuds/NotWhoYouThink131
Summary: I hope tonight's festivities prove to be graceful, and I hope Mr. Mulligan's friends like me. Their approval will be crucial to this plan.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> So here's a little behind the scenes for you guys. When I started publishing this story back in January, I had 11 chapters of it already written, but I decided to edit a whole bunch of it and it totaled out to about 6 chapters before everything suddenly stopped making sense and the plot was getting too tangled up within itself for me to continue going. So I stopped publishing it and now I don't remember what all needed to be changed to make it make sense again. So, I scrapped the whole story that was posted on here and decided to republish it without all the changes I made before. Now, I can't promise this version is better, it might actually be worse, but I stand by it because this plot is actually going somewhere.

_ 1775 March 17 _

_ There is a new pub in New York City opening this evening, and it seems to be an anti-Loyalist structure. Most of the men I've heard talking about it are middle class men working for the Rebellion, and I can’t wait to see the excitement of the Revolution. The Rebels are usually accepting of women in their private places of meeting; they keep their mouths closed and their legs open, which is exactly what the Rebellion needs. Very rarely do the lower class Rebels respect women as human beings other than holes to fill, but the middle class have a more chivalrous aura about them and I find it alluring. _

_ Mr. Mulligan is going to take me to the pub tonight and introduce me to some friends he believes can help me with my latest mission. He said it is a gesture of goodwill, since he is well aware that I will be unable to complete this newest mission without his help. Hopefully his friends will be able to help me fit in better among soldiers; my size puts me off and makes me appear suspicious in my nature, when in reality, I am just a mess. Hopefully being escorted by him will not be a problem tonight. _

_ I enjoy Mr. Mulligan's company. He is a very kind-hearted man, even though he claims he is rogue-ish when he wants to be (I cannot help but disbelieve him, for I have seen him avoid more fights than I have seen him in them). For a man who is mostly brawn, standing about 30 centimeters over my head with a build much larger than my own, his hands are tender as he hastily makes me clothes in the back of his Master's shop; page-boy uniforms and even an aristocratic tailcoat (Beautiful blue velvet) in case I should need one. For impersonal purposes, he has also fixed most of the tears in my dresses, since I can never manage to walk without stepping on the bottom hems. _

_ Mr. Mulligan said there are rumors that Angelica Schuyler will be attending tonight. I do hope those rumors are proven true, for I wish to meet the woman who inspired my work. She believes all women are the same as men, if we are just allowed to be, and I couldn't agree more. Men may be the dominant sex in both scripture and in our current society, but it is the pillar labeled "Women" that these great anomalies of humanity stand upon. _

_ I must go. I hope tonight's festivities will be graceful, and I hope Mr. Mulligan’s friends like me. Their approval will be crucial to this plan. _


	2. Chapter 2

"You seem excited." Mr. Mulligan watches me approach, a skip in my step. He eyes my long off-ivory dress, raising a dark eyebrow. "Is this how you want me to introduce you? You’d probably make more headway in a  _ different _ outfit."

"We should be fine." I wave my hand dismissively, turning to walk.  I look at him, unmoving on the street. "Mulligan, let's go."

"I don't think this is a good idea." Mr. Mulligan says, quickly pulling me back towards my quarters. "Let's try a different outfit, Miss. Something a li’l less feminine." I knew what he was getting at, and I would have been angry if I didn’t trust this man’s judgement. Knowing the man for the time I have, we’ve made a bond in which we want to keep each other out of harm’s way. In this society, it’s all a young white woman and a black man can do to protect each other from the common enemy of Revolutionary white men.

“What about Miss Schuyler?” I ask. “I want to look my best for her.”

“I was given bad information.” Mr. Mulligan shakes his head. “She ain’t coming tonight. It’s just going to be us and the guys tonight.”

"Why does it matter?" I ask as Mr. Mulligan wraps a large arm around my waist and starts to escort me back the way I came. “I’m allowed in the bar like this.”

"It doesn't, not to me anyways." He says. "But I would prefer-"

"To not walk around with a white woman." I finish, crossing my arms.

"Don’t try to guilt trip me, kid, that ain’t it." Mr. Mulligan says. "My problem ain’t with who you are, I just want you to present yourself how my friends’ll get familiar with you."

"You needn’t be concerned about that, Mr. Mulligan." I say. “They’ll get to know me.” I wink as he pulls my hair from its ponytail. He gestures for me to lead the way to my bedroom, and I lead him without hesitation. “I am very popular among young spry leaders.”

"Prol’ly not these guys." Mr. Mulligan states, closing my bedroom door behind us. "My friends have different tastes in partners than normal men, if you get what I’m saying. Being Damian tonight might be a better idea, if you’re trying to get close to them."

"They bed with men?" I feel the strings on my corset loosen, and I breathe deeply once it's off. I quickly strip my dress along with my corset and kick them away from me to make room for the rest of my preparation.

"John does. Lafayette’s still trying to sort that out. But, to make it easier on you, yes." Mr. Mulligan grabs my first aid kit and pulls out a bundle of bandages. I pull on a scratchy pair of pants and put my arms up. He begins to wrap the bandages around my torso, pressing my breasts into me. I breathe deeply and attempt to relax as I am restrained within my own body. "That’s why we’re all so close."

"You too?" I raise an eyebrow. This is the first time in the months I've known him that he has mentioned something as personal as his preference in lovers (Lord, I don’t even know his first name. We agreed to stay on a last name basis to avoid getting each other in trouble), so I’m rather surprised to find him opening up to me. Without knowing my preferences as well, he just placed himself in immediate danger on the off-chance I would allow it. An off-chance he unknowingly has the benefit of.

"I’m pretty odd with sex." Mr. Mulligan shrugs. "Their gender don't matter to me too much. If they love good, then I appreciate their company." He eyes me as I quickly finish getting dressed. "How ‘bout you, Miss Maxwell?"

"Me?" I look at him.

"Do you prefer men or women?"

"Women." I say without hesitation. "That is where my loyalty has always lied, for as long as I can remember."

"But I've seen you around town with so many men at your feet." Mr. Mulligan laughs. "Haven’t found girls like you?"

"It's not that I haven't found someone." I say, mostly honest. "Women have no control of money in their households, and therefore I cannot pay my rent. I have to make a living, Mr. Mulligan, and there’s only so much I can do."

"Understandable." He nods. “Mr. Faeton only pays you so much." He wraps my dark hair tightly into a bun and sticks it under a hat, making sure not a single hair is out of place. "Now be careful tonight; if this place is crowded, many men’s gonna jostle you. Don't let this fall off." He makes a face. “And try not to drink too much tonight, Miss Maxwell. I can only control so much at a time, and I won’t be able to stop John and Lafayette once they start drinking.” He retrieves a rag and wipes the makeup off my face with haste. “I don’t want you starting a fight.”

"We've been drinking in public before." I say, rolling my eyes. "Damn, Mulligan, you treat me like a child."

"Because you act like one." Mr. Mulligan says. "You can’t think for yourself unless you’re itching for a fight." He looks me up and down. "That's something we'll need to work on; you gotta learn to control yourself if you want them to listen to you and take your advice seriously. A man like me always having to save you makes you look submissive to me, that ain’t good."

I adjust my thin shirt and grin. "Think for myself, don't let my hat be touched, don’t get too drunk. I can do those things tonight, but anymore orders and I will have to charge you, Mr. Mulligan.”


	3. Chapter 3

When we step into the dimly lit building, it is relatively empty; there’s only ten or twelve people in the whole bar, sitting at tables that dot the entire room and booths lining the walls. The room is muggy and already reeks of beer and urine.

"Smells like the place has been broken in just fine." I scrunch up my nose.

"You're right." Mr. Mulligan says, looking around. "That's alright, though. We'll get used to it."

I wince at the thought. "So where are your friends?"

"Back table." He points, but I'm far too small to see over the heads of the other men between us at the door and them at the back table. "Let's go." He grabs my arm roughly and begins pulling me along.

"Ah, Mr. Mulligan, be careful-"

"Hercules." He says firmly. "You need to call us by our first names, it’ll sound weird if you call us Mister."

“Hercules.” I repeat softly. Trying to embed that into my mind will be difficult, as I’ve only known this man as Mulligan for months now, As he has only known me as Maxwell; he calls me Max sometimes, a nickname for when he need to say my name faster than Maxwell will allow.

"Hercules!" An ecstatic call reaches us halfway across the drab smokey room, making me jump. Hercules has his hand on my shoulder to anchor me to the floor. "Hello!"

"Good evening, Hercules~!" Comes a heavily accented voice. I still cannot see the owners of the two voices over some of the growing crowd. The crowd grows quickly from ten to twenty people as Hercules pulls me to our destination.

"Evening." Hercules says as we finally approach the table. Sitting there are two young men, one much larger than the other one. The darker of the two men- the taller one- has dark kinky hair pulled back into a silver ribbon and has a lanky build. The smaller man is a light tanned color with greyish-brown eyes and dark hair pulled loosely back with a blue scrap of cloth, several curly strands falling around his freckle-dusted face.

"And who is this little guy?" The smaller man says in a soft patronizing voice, almost as if he was talking to a babe. I find myself repressing a scowl at his pseudo-grin as he bends down to my level. "A new apprentice or something?"

"Oh, of course not!” The taller man says in that heavy accent I heard before. I think he is French, but I am unsure. "They would not rank a colorless man the same as Hercules!”

“That's right, you are an 'apprentice'.” The white man says mockingly. “I forgot.”

"That’s right." Hercules says. "No, this is a friend of mine. Gentlemen, this is Damian Maxwell." He gestures to me and I nod, smiling confidently at the two gentlemen.

"Hello." I say.

"Damian, this is John Laurens and Gilbert du Motier, the Marquis de Lafayette." Hercules smiles, pushing me towards a seat. I sit down as Hercules calls for a round, his voice booming over the noise of the bar.

"You look much too young to drink." Lafayette eyes me carefully.

"He's older than you, Gil." Hercules says.

"Non!" Lafayette chuckles. " I do not believe you! How old are you?"

"I'm nearly 22." I say.

"You look so young!" Lafayette cries. "Surely I would assume you were younger than me!"

"If I had any friends younger than you, I wouldn't be allowed to bring them in here." Hercules chuckles.

"Wait, how old are you?" I blink. Surely this man- with a 45 centimeters over me (He’s taller than Hercules, God damn)- isn’t that much younger than me.

"I will be 19 in September." Lafayette says proudly.

"My God, you're a child." I snort to hide my surprise.

"I am very mature for my age." Lafayette states proudly, putting his hand on his hips and posing heroically, his nose turned in the air.

"So Damian," John props his head up with his arms, calling attention from his European friend. "Why’d Hercules bring you by to see us?" He plays with a wood chip in his teeth, running it across his lips.

"I am a Rebel, that's all." I say with a shrug. “Dreaming of better things than a tyrant leader for my future legacy.” I see that an answer so vague does not satisfy neither Hercules or his friends.

"Surely you have more to say than that." Hercules chuckles, leaning forward. "Feel free to speak your mind here,” He whispers promptly. “We will most likely agree."

I fight the urge to resist opening up to these strangers, and instead I take Hercules’ advice and begin to rabble. "The King is nothing more than an ignorant man who act more ruthless than ruler." A barmaid approaches, setting glasses on the table. John hands them out to us and begins drinking. Lafayette quickly follows suit. “He is disrespectful to our colonies and I want something better than a tyrant leading the future generation of our people to our prosperity.”

"Drink." Hercules reminds me. I grit my teeth and knock back the off-tasting liquid, holding back a gag as I swallow it down. It's not the worst alcohol I’ve had, I'll give it that. It has a sweet aftertaste to it, something I have not seen in an alcoholic beverage yet. Hercules picked a good one for me this time. Last time he picked an ale that was so bitter I spit it all over Mr. Anderson from the drug store. I still haven’t apologized to him.

"While I do agree," John groans at the taste of the drink- I’m shocked he doesn’t seem to like it. "There are many problems other than the King's rule."

"Agreed." Lafayette holds up his half-empty mug to us. "The relations between England and France are- how you say?- a mess, the colony's relations with both even more so; it makes me sick."

"There's also the issue of all the slaves." John nods. "Even in the North, one of every five business owners has at least one colored servant or apprentice." He looks pointedly towards Hercules. "In the South, it's four of every five."

"Damian wants to join the militia." Hercules says, quickly changing the subject.

"But he is so little!" Lafayette laughs, bringing a hand down hard onto my shoulder. I grunt softly and he just laughs more.

"He'd make more use as a drummer boy." John says. "Not a marksman."

"My size is one of my greatest traits!" I say defensively. "I am very quick and can sneak about easier than men who have a fuller size such as yourselves. Since I am very small, Redcoats do not feel threatened by me, but I am certainly a force to be reckoned with when I am impossible to hit on the battlefield, I assure you."

"Your speed is an advantage, you're right." John nods. "But I bet you lack in strength since you’re so small."

“Every soldier has room for improvement.” I say. “Surely you two are not perfect.”

“Not at all.” John laughs. “We are far from perfect.”

I turn to Hercules and watch him for a moment, easily distracted when I hear his friends start mumbling to themselves.

"He sounds smart." Lafayette says.

"Yeah." John says in a voice just as low. "He isn't just some guy wandering in here to talk to us. Hercules seems to trust him."

"Keep drinking." Hercules nudges me. "Act like you don't hear them."

I take another drink, draining my mug. The aftertaste starts to become bitter and I wince, setting the cup on the table with a soft  _ thud _ .

“That’s probably your last drink tonight.” Hercules mumbles. I nod; I wouldn’t want to get too drunk and not remember what I’ve done, which has happened before. I still haven’t apologized to Mr. Anderson yet.

"Oui." Lafayette nods. "That is rare. Hercules doesn’t trust many people."

I look at Hercules out of the corner of my eye, and he is staring blankly into his cup. "You okay?" I whisper.

"Yes." He says. "Some men behind us are talking about a recent letter sent from one of the King's men, I'm trying to figure out-"

"What?" John is suddenly leaving his own conversation in abandon and almost flying across the table to get Hercules’ attention. "What about the King?"

"Hey," I turn to the table behind us. The men stare at me fish-eyed, making faces at my apparent rudeness. "What were you saying? About a letter?"

"A letter supposedly came from the King's court today." The fatter man states. "Said the colonies were acting like they could just leave the Kingdom and become their own domain with no consequences."

"We can!" John glares. “And we are!”

"The King compares our forming nation to a rebellious child trying to stray from his parents, and he said we'll end up just like such." The thinner man says. "Said we'll be crying and begging for the King to take us back."

"I doubt we will." I say. "I doubt we'll go back to a government so determined to oppress its subjects that we want to start a revolution to begin with. If the King was truly a great ruler, the thought of watering his colony with the blood of his Loyalists would never have occurred to us."

"The King will see soon." Hercules nods. "We do not need him to run our colonies across a God damned sea. We’ll start our own damn nation and do just as good.”

"It's not like he does much to help anyways." John sighs. "I mean, what does he think he can do from that far away? He's useless to us."

"He sends us tea, that is all." Lafayette snorts. "Tea and egotists who want to try to control us like cattle."

"Yes." I agree. "If only there was a way to do more to help the rebellion." I feel Hercules breathing down on me, and I feel hairs on my arm raise in alarm. It’s almost like he was trying to grasp my attention. “Maybe if there were more people we could have more people in our militia’s-”

“What we’re doing now is all we can do." He says, warningly putting a hand on my back. "Once the war is over, we will probably be able to do more to help this nation grow."

"I'll do more, for sure." Lafayette says "I don't plan on returning to France for some time, and I have big plans for this country."

"After we are a free nation, I'll be able to work more on freeing local black apprentices." John says. "Then when I return home, I can work on freeing plantation slaves and personal servants."

The tables around us begin buzzing with their own plans, voices overlapping. The room soon becomes loud with the sounds of Revolution. More drinks are passed around as everyone becomes electric and live. I hear someone mentioning a weapons stash near Lexington, but I can’t get any good details before his voice quickly gets lost in roaring noise. I hear Hercules talking to John, saying his apprenticeship is fine and that he's not that mad about it. John isn't having any of it, stating that Hercules is treated as a slave by his professional counterpart and that he is the first goal on John's long list of work left undone.

Nearby, Lafayette has begun mumbling to himself, watching some girls pass by the window. His glazy eyes become brighter as he smiles at them, waving as they peek in the window. The women giggle and quickly flounce away, and he leans back in his seat, falling back into his pathetic state.

“Friends of yours?” I ask.

“Oui.” Lafayette says. “Er, yes.” He makes a face, most likely to himself.

“I know what oui means, _mon_ _ami_.” I say.

“People usually get confused when I start speaking French,” Lafayette snorts. “John especially says it’s hard to understand me.”

“I studied French when I was younger as a part of my schooling,” I say. “So I am fluent.” It’s mostly true; I had to study French, but it was only because my mother required it of me before I was allowed to wander the city on my own. She never told me why, but said it was important I could speak French, and so I learned. To this day, I still haven’t found much use for it other than an occasional word or two from travelers.

“You seem well educated for a young man.” He blinks at me with a glazy film over his deep eyes. “Are you parents…” He pauses for a moment, probably searching for the word in English. Either that or just really intoxicated. Probably both. “Wealthy?”

“They were.” I say. “My father passed away when I was child, and my mother last year.”

“Apologies for your loss.” Lafayette says. “Shame for a young man to have lost his family so early in life.”

I nod a thanks to him and a rough arm wraps around my thin shoulders, startling me.

“You’ll probably be in my unit if you plan to stay in New York.” John says to me. “It’ll be fun, keeping you around, Damian.”

“Joy.” Lafayette turns away from us and mumbles into his cup, pretending to drink from its emptiness.

“What’s wrong with that?” John says.

“Hm? Oh, nothing.” Lafayette quickly stands up and staggers to Hercules’ side, as if expecting the larger man to protect him. “I just hope you and Damian become friends and have fun working together.”

“Are you still mad?” John sighs. “Lafayette-”

“Mad over what?” I ask.

“Oh, he’s just upset he can’t join our militia because he is a Negro,” John waves his hand dismissively. “It’s not up to me, though, so I don’t understand why he’s getting mad at me like some little kid.”

“Because you are getting your justice and I am not!” Gilbert says. “Direct me to where that is fair, Monsieur Laurens?”

“Stop, both of you,” Hercules says. “We don’t want to start this here.”

“I want to start this, though,” John says. “I’m getting real sick and tired of you getting an attitude with me just because they respect me!”

“You don’t deserve their respect!” Lafayette stands up. “You are nothing in this Revolution but a pathetic excuse for a-!”

“Hey! You two should really calm down,” Hercules says, pulling Lafayette behind him to get between him and John. “You’ve had too much to drink.”

“I’ve put in more work than you have!” Lafayette says, ignoring our large friend. “Where is my recognition?”

“I think you two should take a deep breath and-” I reach for Lafayette

“Damian, don’t get involved,” Hercules says. “Let them tire each other out.”

“They’re not going to tire out.” I say. “Look at them!”

“You aren’t even permitted to be in this colony!” John snaps. “You snuck onto a  fucking ship to get here! Where is your recognition, don’t make me laugh! You’re--”

“Even more to vouch for his abilities.” I say, stepping between the two. “He was stealthy enough to escape an entire country. He does deserve recognition, just as you do. It’s unfair that he doesn’t get to join our efforts because he’s different from us.”

"Damian." Hercules winces. “Get over here--”

"I’m glad you see things like that, Damian." John sets his glass down loudly. He turns so he’s not looking at me. “However, that is not how things work around here. Not yet.”

“You want to make the colored men of this colony equal to us, John, but you still act like you want to treat Lafayette as a submissive to your own devices.” I cross my arms. “Frankly, I find it hypocritical.”

“It’s not that I want to treat him like I am a higher power to him,” John says, quick to defend himself. “All I am saying is-”

“All you are saying is that this is just how society is, right? That’s how we treat our brothers in arms?” I scoff. “It’s pathetic.”

The area around me quiets quickly, which has a ripple effect across the room until most of the room is staring at me. At first I think they are giving me such a scandalous look for sticking up for Lafayette, but I quickly realize that is not that case; they seem more shocked that I insulted John.

"What?" John blinks, setting his glass down.

"What?” I blink.

“You called me pathetic.” John stands up.

"Damian-"

"Hercules, shut up." John steps closer to me, sizing me up. His grey eyes are suddenly angry, as if I've misspoken. As I look back at our conversation, I'm don’t believe I have. I meant everything I said to him, and I hold no regrets. “You really think you have room to talk? To call me pathetic? Look at you-”

“I meant no harm to your pride, Mr. Laurens.” I say. “I was just making an observation based on hypocritical actions.”

Behind John, I can see Hercules is getting ready to step in, his stance defensive and tense. He watches me with dark eyes, almost like he was the cornered animal instead of the man I am fighting with. When I focus back on John, his own eyes have started to soften and the pressure I saw there moments ago has started slipping, as if he had finally gained control of his alcohol induced state.

He stares me down with those soft grey eyes, almost pleading in a sense, and I quickly fall back to my own position, backing away and sitting with my back to him. I feel everyone's eyes on me- I can see Lafayette staring at me, and I'm secretly glad he is the only one I can see- but I cannot tell who is mad and who is not. Lafayette doesn't look mad, he is just staring between me and John with wide eyes and a dropped jaw. It's obvious this is the first time anyone has spoken to John like that in front of him and I only consider the consequences of defending the Frenchman for a moment before John finally responds.

"Outside."

"Pardon?" I look up, but I do not turn to John. My heart starts to pound. A breath down my neck not only raises bumps on my arm, thankfully hidden by my sleeves, but proves to me that John was not placated.

"Let's. Go. Outside." John growls through gritted teeth.

"John, wait-" Hercules starts.

"Stay in here with Lafayette!" John snaps. "Damien. Stand. Up." His voice is threateningly low and he speaks slowly, careful emphasis placed on each word in an attempt to further get his anger across to me.

"I don't want to fight you, John." I say.

"I won't allow you to get in my face and try to insult me!" John snaps, grabbing me by my shoulder and yanking me to my feet. I hold back a wretched yelp as I feel my shoulder almost popped from its socket. "You will not embarrass me in a room full of my peers!"

"Down, boy." I shrug him off roughly. "I did not mean to hurt your pride-”

"You're not saving yourself now!" John hisses. "Let's go, kid!"

The room is still staring at us, but not a single one of these men want to help me. Why would they? I have spoken out of turn. To step on another man's toes is dangerous, and I knew that when I started to speak. I knew this man's honor would be harmed the moment I started speaking of his hypocrisy, and to be honest, I'm lucky he hasn't unholstered the gun he is no doubt concealing (All soldiers carry a handgun, even I know that) and shot me yet. Instead, he wants to brawl in an alley or something- the man is obviously too drunk to think of his gun but not drunk enough to consider a fight right in this room. Honestly, I'm grateful for all circumstances provided, as I would surely be questioned by these men if they were to discover what was hidden under these clothes.

"That's enough!" Hercules interjects more forcefully this time, grabbing John's hand and making him release my shoulder. He doesn’t even bother to catch me when I fall back into my seat. "You ain't doing this here, so you both need to stand down!"

"You stay out of this!" John yells in his face. His freckled features suddenly become dark red as Hercules towers over him.

"You better watch your tone with me, John." Hercules growls. His dark eyes hold a ferocity I have never seen in them before. I have never known Hercules to be a violent or threatening man; once you get to know him, he is very sweet. He speaks gently and politely- though not correctly, I’ll admit- and is timid when advancing into a conversation as to not make anyone feel like he is dangerous. His only wish is to make people feel comfortable around him, and up until this second, he has never given me a reason to doubt that.

"Hercules, be gentle with him." Lafayette is suddenly holding both men by an arm, as if to pull them apart like they were the ones causing the scene.

"We should go." Hercules says. At first I thought he was talking to me, so I stepped forward to be escorted. However, I see Lafayette nod and John relax, hanging his head as if in shame. "Come on, Damian, you too."

"Well, I hope I am coming with you." I frown a little. "I will have trouble getting home from here; I am poor with directions."

"I know you are." Hercules sighs. "Let's get all of you home."


	4. Chapter 4

Hercules has hastily led us along the streets, ignoring Lafayette's drunken singing and John's sloppily raged complaining, for about 20 minutes. Him and I have been quiet, listening to the other two babble and grumble. The darkness makes it easier for me to lose Hercules since he is so dark himself, but I always know he is near because Lafayette is leaning on him to steady himself. Suddenly, when I least expect it, Hercules grapples my arm and harshly pulls me from the others, leaving them stumbling close by.

"We need to talk." He hisses, spinning me to face him. My back hits the wall and I feel it throbbing between my shoulder blades.

“What?”

“You know what, don’t fuckin' start wit' me!”

"Hercules, I was just voicing an opinion!" I hiss. “Why are you being such a brute about this? That’s all you Revolutionaries do, toss your opinions into the wind, I was just--!”

"Now you and I both know that calling a man pathetic'll make him upset, especially when you’re trying to be friends." He rubs the bridge of his nose with the hand not holding me in place. "You can't go one outing without a fight, can you?"

"I am sorry, Mr. Mulligan." I begin.

"Hercules-"

"-But I was not going to sit idly by as your friends scream of the Revolution and the progress of the Rebels, but in their next breath plead the old ways they want to break away from!” I cut him off, desperate to get in the last word. Normally I would let him win, just go home and forget this ever happened, but I refuse to let him dominate my right to speak just because he thinks I was out of turn. All I wanted was to point out that John was being hypocritical and rude to a man he insisted was a friend. “Your friend was hypocritical in his actions, and behavior like that is unfair to the hard-working people trying to change this colony, and I refuse to watch as our country goes down in flames before we even have a chance because we have more faith than strength and-"

"You talk so much, Darling." Lafayette giggles from behind Hercules.

"Stay out of this." Hercules huffs. “Go back to John."

"I can hear him from here, too." John mumbles just loud enough for me to hear. "His voice travels."

"You'll be home soon, John." Hercules says. “And try to lighten up, I brought Damian to you tonight to add a member of the Revolution to our numbers.”

“We are being outnumbered as of now.” Lafayette says in agreement.

"If you want to take Lafayette home," John says. "I can walk from here." He pulls the collar of his brown dingy jacket up around his face stubbornly.

"You're stumbling." I note. "We should keep walking with you so you get home safe."

"Do  _ not _ act like you care for my well being!" John hisses. "You insulted me and you're getting away with it! You're lucky we don't fight right here!"

"Stop trying to start a duel!" Hercules groans. “Just let him help you!”

"I never once said I wished your well-being ill." I sigh. "I only said what I meant, that you are so insistent on us being equals, but you are passively standing by or even allowing it as your companion is called out as a lesser man."

By now, we've stopped walking, but I assume we're close to wherever our stop is, because Hercules doesn't seem to mind that we've stopped. He just watches us standing in the street like a bunch of drunk morons.

"I don’t see Lafayette as a lesser man.” John says quietly. “He is my equal.”

“As men who want to stand together,” I say. “You have to protect each other, and not stand by as your brothers are treated differently.”

“He needs to protect himself before he protects us, Darling.” Lafayette says. “Some men would not like for him to protect someone who is not native to the colony, especially since I am colored.”

“But if he really means what he says about treating you as his equal, and freeing slaves to make them common citizens, he wouldn’t care what people think about him sticking up for a black man.” I say. “You have your own right to believe what you want, and if someone doesn’t like it, tell them to piss off.”

“Damian, please don’t start preaching your Freedom bullshit tonight.” Hercules says, sighing. “We don’t need it.”

“You know, it must really be nice,” John says, stumbling in front of me. “Not having to fear for the lives of others for believing in some unconventional shit.”

“Do you not realize where we are?” I ask. “This entire colony is unconventional! We’re not meant to hold ourselves to the same conventions as others; it is our job to make our own ways with our own beliefs, and to not be ashamed of our actions.”

“And you really believe men won’t kill you for that kind of philosophy?” John asks.

“I do not fear death, Laurens.” I say. “With that being said, I would rather die a martyr for my cause than a traitor with someone else’s.”

“ _ Je suis d’accord _ .” Lafayette nods, his accent heavily slurred with alcohol. “Darling, you are right-”

"Why do you call me Darling?" I snap.

Lafayette doesn't answer. Instead, he makes an unsteady sweeping arm motion. "You are home, Monsieur Laurens." He slurs.

John stares at us for a moment, his silver eyes turning to each face with a dim expression before turning and quickly making his way to the house. He says something over his shoulder- something far too slurred for me to understand- and shuts the door. The lights on the ground level of the home come on almost instantly, and I see the silhouette of a thin figure approach him.

"Let's keep moving." Lafayette says, stumbling into Hercules and draping himself across the man's shoulders. “ _ Emmène-moi à la maison, mon amour~ _ ” He sings softly.

"Answer my question." I say as we keep walking down the lamp-lit streets. "Why do you call me Darling?"

"Does it bother you?" Lafayette raises an eyebrow. "Does my affection put you off?"

"No." I say. "I just wanted an explanation for such an affectionate nickname when I don’t know you from Adam."

"You are like a Madame." Lafayette answers honestly. My face turns cold and my heart starts to pump. "Your size and the way you carry yourself- even your manners- you seem feminine. You can tell it was your mother who raised you."

I nearly sigh aloud with relief. He still thinks I am male; I haven't tipped him off yet. I catch up with the 2 men, struggling to keep up with their long strides. God damn, why do tall men have such long legs? My short stature makes it hard to strut as long as them.

"Can I come home with you tonight, my love?" Lafayette slurs into Hercules' ear. "I do not want to lay alone."

"You can stay wit me." Hercules nods. "But you know I don't like to make love when you're drunk; it's never any good."

"You are no fun!" Lafayette nearly spits at him, letting go of his shoulder and stumbling alone in the street for a moment. "Just one night, please, Hercules!"

"If you want one night, don't get so drunk you can't stand up." Hercules steadies Lafayette by pulling him back to his side. "A few drinks are fine, Gilbert, just do not go overboard with it."

Lafayette begins pleading loudly in French, pressing himself closer to Hercules. Hercules holds him steady, rolling his eyes as he keeps walking.

"You can walk home by yourself if you want." Hercules says to me without turning around. "I won't be able to get you home and then myself without him jumping on me."

"If I want?" I say. "There's an alternative?"

"You could come home with me." Hercules says. "Help me keep him busy until he passes out."

"How would I keep him busy?" I raise an eyebrow and look at the Frenchmen whining softly at Hercules’ side in his native tongue, desperate and hungry but as gentle as a kitten. He looks pathetic; I hold my tongue.

"Hell if I know, don’t really care." Hercules says, holding Lafayette a small distance away from him. "It's your choice, though."


	5. Chapter 5

_ 1775 March 18 _

_ Last night was an adventure, I assure you that. Meeting Mr. Laurens and Marquis de Lafayette was exciting; meeting real Rebels that wanted to speak to me as an equal instead of an object was a feeling I wish to relive again and again if allowed. _

_ Mr. Laurens was a little too drunk and a little too violent for my liking, but the man is a man of honor and I was out of line, so that was to be expected of him. He has some very good ideas for Negroes in this new nation, and I do agree that they are mistreated when they should be considered equals, like all men. Hercules is the only black man I've been able to vouch for prior to meeting his friends, and I treat him as my equal, and I do vouch for him and his character. He is affectionate and kind and he doesn't deserve the way his Master treats him sometimes. Hercules doesn't see his treatment as abuse, for he gets paid and even has a house, but men like Laurens and myself see the mistreatment he endures; we even consider it slavery. _

_ Mr. (?) Lafayette was very kind to me last night, which I guess is to be expected of someone who is a form of French royalty. He spoke sweetly to me, even as drunk as he was, and I appreciated the gesture of him not hanging loosely on me and whispering sweet nothings into my ear like he did to Hercules for a vast majority of the night. Lafayette is French, I will give him that much; his sexual confidence must be high for him to be so insistent of dominating someone like Hercules, even as young and drunk as he was. Sadly for me, a loving voyeur from the other room who would give my right arm to see someone like Hercules get treated like a common whore, he did not succeed and was only given a small series of smacks on his rear to placate him. I must question if I should say Mr. or use another prefix, for I heard Hercules calling Lafayette his "Baby girl" While he was trying to distract Lafayette to get the Frenchman to bed before he had made another advancement and removed more of Hercules' clothes than he had already taken the liberty of taking off. It only seemed to rile the man up more, almost sparked something entirely different within him. I almost feel sorry for Hercules. _

_ When Hercules had finally emerged from Lafayette's chambers, the Frenchman sound asleep (or at least bonded to something he could not escape from), he lazily sat next to me and asked if I needed help undressing. I told him I could handle such, and he was quickly off to bed, exhausted from wrestling with his partner. Left alone in the dark room, I began to think, recounting the events of the night, and I found myself thinking about Mr. Laurens again, the way he was furious with how I spoke to him, how I called him a hypocrite for working against Lafayette. I thought of how he had wanted to fight me the whole way home, challenging me to a duel every few blocks. I disregarded him for the most part, at first frightened, but soon left with the realization that he will not hurt me because, for the most part, he is incapable of doing so. Mr. Laurens is a man who is mostly talk with not-so-mostly action. The only action he has taken is to help men like Hercules, and even then he is one man working alone doing an army's work under the impression that what he is doing is frowned upon by society and he must act accordingly; he is weak, for the most part. _

_ Hercules was right, though; these men will not be good men to waste my womanhood on. Damian will have to be the way to go in order to gain their trust. _

 

 

A loud knock on my door wakes me up from my mid-afternoon nap that day. I hastily pull my dress into its proper place- it had slid down my torso as I laid across my dining room table- as I open the door, greeted with a thin Negro man with shining almond colored eyes. "Hello." I say, rubbing sleep from my eyes quickly. It takes me a moment to realize this is not a man I’ve met before. "Can I help you, hon?" I lean against the doorway lazily.

"I was told you could help me." He says, his tone polite. This Negro spoke differently than Mr. Mulligan, carried himself a lot better. This man seemed well educated, based on the seven words he spoke to me. He seems cleaner and more put together, so I can only assume he is more than just an apprentice to some business owner nearby. "I requested your assistance."

"I assist with many services." I say, pulling my dress fully into place instead of hanging loosely off my shoulders; I need to present myself more respectfully towards this man, Negro or not; ‘educated’ normally means ‘powerful’. "You will have to be more specific, sir."

"I believe someone sent a letter to you about a week ago, talking about me." He holds out his hand. "Aaron Burr."

_ Burr! _

I gasp and turn, rushing to my table to dig through some papers and straighten others. "Mr. Burr, yes! Come in, sir!" I dig around until I find the letter from the General from New Jersey, trying to read it while I talk. "I wasn’t unaware you'd be arriving today, please excuse the mess!" I gesture to the room, then to myself. "And... The mess." I groan, embarrassed. "I was supposed to be in a much better condition to meet you, sir, I apologize. It’s been a rough morning."

"You do not need to be flustered, Ma'am." Mr. Burr chuckles as he sits at the table, watching me straighten things up. "I am a few days ahead of schedule, I decided to take my leave from Jersey early due to boredom." He watches me clean the room in record time, excusing myself to make myself more presentable once I'm done.

When I come back out, Mr. Burr is still seated, writing in a small journal. He smiles at me and continues writing when I sit down, my hair properly brushed and a fresh coat of makeup on my face.

"The letter I got about you was very vague." I say after a moment, when I assume he will not put his notebook away. "I’m not exactly sure what my task is, or why it involves you. I just know you are going to be here to oversee my progress."

"The letter was left unfinished," Mr. Burr says. "because the General who wrote it was recently captured by Loyalist soldiers and is not expected to return alive, but I opted for the letter to be sent anyways. The information you need to know was already written down, so there was no use in trying to find someone else in power to write useless instructions."

I look down at the letter again, quickly reading through it. He said everything I need to know is enclosed in the letter, but other than instructions that Burr would be arriving soon, I’m not exactly sure what I am and aren’t supposed to know. "So what is your involvement, Mr. Burr? Because, with all due respect, I work alone for a reason. I feel like you will just get in my way."

"I might." Mr. Burr nods. "But I have something you do not, and that is a place in the military. I can get you easier access to the resources you need and, trust me, you will need my help."

"That will not be necessary, Mr. Burr." I shake my head. "I have friends with ties to the local militia, I should not need help from outsiders."

"I am being transferred to General Richard Montgomery’s militia within the next few days." Mr. Burr says. "I am not as much of an outsider as you take me for. I will most likely run into your friends if our units travel together."

_ God, I hope not. _ I think as I nod at him, still looking at the letter. I try desperately to remember if any of the men from last night were a part of Montgomery’s troop, or at least a joint force. They have to be, Montgomery is one of the only leaders between here and Boston; most men flee to the South to rally troops with a little more land, and thus more money.  _ If Burr and I are in the same troop, that will cause problems _ .

"What are your contacts' names?" He asks me.

"John Laurens" I say. "I don't remember the others; I've only met them recently and have not grown familiar."

"Laurens." Mr. Burr repeats, writing it down quickly. I make note that he's written something else, but I cannot read his bold and graceful handwriting upside down and from across the table. "I will brief you on your job in due time. How long do your jobs normally take?"

"It is going to take some time." I admit. He nods and begins writing. "I am not as efficient as I would like to be. Give me 2 months.'

"Make it one." Mr. Burr says. "It shouldn't take that long, even."

"Sir, I just said I am a little slow on my efficiency and will need more-"

"Work on it." Mr. Burr stands. "Unless this task is already proving to be too much, Miss Maxwell?"

"No," I shake my head quickly. "Not at all, Sir."

"Then I will come by in a few days." Mr. Burr watches me for a moment as I hesitate to stand. "Miss?" When I finally do rise, he nods and grabs my hand, kissing it before turning to the door. I follow him out and close the door, looking hesitantly down at the hand he kissed.

I have so much work to do.


	6. Chapter 6

_ I step into the shop, shaking the rain from my hair. There is no one standing in the front, but I see a shadow in the back doorway, a large build digging through some boxes on a shelf. There are several models of dresses along the walls, as well as a few hats on shelves and rolls of materials lining the back wall, ranging from dingy cotton to a fine red silk I can’t peel my eyes from for a moment. My mother would have loved a dress made out of that; red was her favorite color. _

__ _ “Someone out there?” A deep voice calls. _

__ _ “Yes.” I say back. _

__ _ “Just one momen’, Ma’am.” After a couple minutes of shuffling boxes and things nearly tumbling over in the back, a large Negro man finally emerges from the back room. He has a layer of dust and cobwebs in his hair. “Sorry for the wait, Miss. I’s searching for something.” _

__ _ “You’re alright.” I smile. “I’m not in any rush today, you could’ve taken another 20 minutes if you needed to.” Without a single thought, I reach up and pull some cobwebs from his hair. He chuckles and watches me for a moment as I clean his hair, his cheeks flushing lightly under the dark skin. _

__ _ “H-How can I help ya today, Ma’am?” He smiles when I’m done, leaning against the work counter. “Need something made?” _

__ _ “I am just here to pick up an order.” I say. “Something left for me.” _

__ _ “Alright.” He gestures towards the door he came from. “It’s probably something from back here. Come this way, Miss.” He leads me back to the room and looks at the boxes lining the wall. I stay in the doorway and watch his eyes scan the boxes. “Name?” _

_ “Should be under Josephine Maxwell.” I say. _

_ “Hm,” He frowns. “What was it?” _

__ _ “A dress.” I say. I see him turn around and look at another wall, eyeing the boxes on those shelves. I notice the boxes have symbols on them, probably sorting what’s in them for illiterate workers. I wonder if that category applies to him, and I realize it does when I see the box with my mother’s name on it and he scans right by it “It’s blue with gold accents along the sleeves. Should be right there.” I point to the pristine white box on the third shelf _

__ _ “Oh, this one!” He makes a noise in his throat and grabs the box. “I was looking at that this morning! My Master said you’d be by today!” He holds out the box for me to take. “My master said Mrs. Maxwell passed away. I’m sorry for your loss.” He bows slightly. The movement seems awkward and mechanic, like he isn’t really sure what he’s doing but he knows he should be doing it. Probably something beaten into him by Mr. Sherman. _

__ _ “Thank you.” I say, taking the box and setting it on the nearby counter. _

__ _ “Was she a friend of yours? Mrs. Maxwell?” _

__ _ “My mother.” I say. His dark eyes flicker sympathetically for a moment and I quickly change the subject. “Were there any alterations made to the dress? This was left to me, but I am unsure of what to expect.” _

__ _ “Not yet, but I think someone wrote down that it needed to be resized.” He eyes me for a second. “If you don’t got any sisters, Miss, I think this is s’pposed to be resized to fit you.” _

__ _ “Really?” I smile and he nods. “When would I get that done? Do I need to make an appointment with Mr. Sherman?” _

__ _ “I can do it right now, if it ain’t any trouble?” He says. “If you wouldn’t mind being served by an apprentice, ‘course.” _

__ _ “I wouldn’t see a problem with it.” I say. “Would you be willing to help me?” _

__ _ “I offered, didn’t I?” He smiles. _

I do various types of work. A couple years ago, when my mother was still alive, she taught me a few things my father had taught her about the art of torture and the process of execution. While I found the torture in damp cellars of taverns to be oddly satisfying, nothing ever struck me like public assassination, which is where I had placed most of my growing efforts until my mother died. After her passing, I set that life away and began to work in more publically acceptable affairs, like running weapons for the war. However, some requests for my skills are still sent, and I am happy to oblige if the price is right. In the meantime, I work and run orders for a female Loyalist faction that redistributes Loyalist guns and supplies among business owners for a profit. The women that help me are all young single women who work at Mr. Faeton’s shop with his daughter, women who are forced to work for the Loyalists under watchful eyes, but we wish to work for the Rebels when we are no longer watched; we’re all women who want more from our government, and we hope that someday our brains will be worth more than our bodies.

Most of the letters on my table are Loyalist leaders asking for more supplies, but I have answered them that we are behind on our orders and are focusing on catching up. Due to a previous mission I had where I had to leave for Raleigh for a few weeks to get my hands on a doctor who owed some money to a former friend of my mother’s, I was unable to work in the shop and everyone decided to be completely useless and fall behind, causing this God forsaken mess for me now that I’m home. I have a letter set off to the side, my own private mission- Damian’s mission-, and I feel a twinge of anxiety pang in my stomach. I soon find myself struggling to focus on the supply runs. Most of the letters are from locals, so it won't be too hard for me to gather the supplies from the docks and send them back into town when we get to it.

__ _ The man leads me back to the fitting room. “If Mr. Sherman finds out about this, I’m pro’lly gonna get in a lots of trouble. Can I ask that you don’t mention it to anyone, Miss?” _

__ _ “I’m not supposed to be here right now.” I say. I feel my dress fall off my shoulders and a piece of fabric wrap around my waist. I feel warm fingertips brush against the skin below the edge of my corset and I catch myself blushing at the contact. “I work for Mr. Faeton a few blocks away and I am supposed to be at work right now. I won’t tell if you don’t.” _

__ _ “That’s fair, Miss.” He smiles. “Am I allowed to ask for your name?” _

__ _ “Maxwell.” I say. _

__ _ “Do ya got a first name?” _

__ _ “It’s not important.” I say _

__ _ “Fair enough, I s’ppose.” He shrugs. “Mulligan’s my name. Nice to meet you, Miss Maxwell.” _

A soft knock on the door pulls me from my thoughts. I set the letters down on my table and rise. "Hello?" I reach for the letter opener on the table.

"Max?" A soft voice rises from the other side of the door.

I feel my chest pound as I smile and race to the door and throw it open, greeted with a pair of glorious blue-grey eyes and a smile that lights up the whole world. Today she is dressed in a dark violet dress with a corset that makes her bust appear over the top of her dress, teasing me; my heart drops into my stomach at the sight of her, just like it does every time. I notice the white lace along the sleeves is a little crooked- She must have made this dress herself. Her red hair falls in ringlets around her face, full and heart shaped, and there is a purple bow attached to one of the ringlets near the back of her scalp.

"Leigh." I grin. "Good morning."

"I've been waiting for you all morning." She says. "Did you forget the time?"

"What are you talking about?" I say. "It's Thursday, I don't come in on Thursdays."

"Max, it's Wednesday."

"Is it really?" I blink. That can’t be right. I was with Mr. Mulligan the day before yesterday and that was…. Monday. Oh no. Faeton’s going to have my head, surely. This wouldn’t be the first time I’ve missed work.

“Yes.” Leigh frowns.

"Oh, my God, Leigh, I'm so sorry."

"You're fine, darling." Leigh grabs my arms to ground me, flashing that gorgeous smile at me again. "It isn't that bustling today, I was able to slip away.” She peeks behind me and glances at my table. “What have you been up to?"

"Sorting out the war." I scoff, leading her inside. I show her the pile of work I've left undone and she winces. "Yeah, I am going to have to work this all out soon; there’s at least thirty letters here."

"You should take a break." Leigh wraps an arm around my shoulders, and I melt into her warm touch. "You've been working since you left Saturday."

"I've been working on one of my missions." I say, shaking my head. “It’s pretty important that I focus on that.”

"Ah, yes." Leigh smiles. "The undercover woman in the Rebels’ continental army. How is that coming?"

"I've only met with them once, but Mr. Mulligan believes he can get me in. I may ask him to take me back tonight."

"Don't get too drunk." Leigh jokes. "You took off today, that means we'll need you tomorrow, so keep your head clear."

"That's not going to happen." I shake my head. "I started my mission earlier than I would've liked and I am already behind, I need to work on that before I can return to Mr. Faeton’s shop."

"Max, you need to think about the work we're all doing. We need you to help us before you can help strangers."

"Leigh, you need to understand that I have other work I attend to, I don't answer only to Faeton."

"When he pays your rent, you prioritize his wishes." Leigh scowls. Her lips are thin and a light pink, matching the tone her cheeks are taking. "You can’t run off to Boston yet, Max. Join the militia and help the Rebellion after these orders are run and we are in the clear."

“I’ll still be in New York.” I say. “I’m not leaving for Boston if I don’t have to. But I have a very small window for this execution, Leigh." I shake my head. "I have to work on this before I can focus on Mr. Faeton’s affairs, or I’m going to run out of time."

"There's a smaller window for these goods." Leigh interjects. "Max, we are preparing for a war, and we are already behind schedule because of your shenanigan in Raleigh, you cannot keep putting us off!" Her voice raises- something I rarely ever see from someone as timid as her. Between her and Mr. Mulligan, all my calm and shy friends are becoming angry and loud lately. "The Rebels are going to start this war, and we will not be ready because you won’t face your responsibilities and help us prepare because you are too busy off playing war with the men we need to prepare to fight."

"Find someone else who will do it!" I exclaim, sitting at the table and burying my head in my hands. "I can't hold the whole weight of every mission, you girls will need to work on your Goddamn own for a while longer while I work on this mission, because we’re going to be stuck working for this bastard King forever if I can’t get this right!" The more my voice rises, the less I want to look at Leigh because I know she is crying; she always cries when I yell. "You act like I have to do this by myself and I can't! This is not my operation, I hate the King, and you  _ know _ that, Leigh. and I need everyone to stop looking to me for answers I am in no condition to supply!" When I finally look up, I am greeted with a dark red face and watery eyes, tears spilling onto chubby cheeks.

"M-Max-"

"Forget I said anything." I sigh, standing up and handing her a handkerchief. My heart pounds painfully and my head starts to spin in panic. "I will be there tomorrow."

"N-No, it's okay, I will t-tell Mr. Faeton you are not-"

" _ I'm coming _ ." I say with finality. "I will be there, just forget I said anything."

"Max-"

"Leigh." I say. "Please. I did not mean to upset you, and I did not mean to raise my voice at you, just please." I hold her arms and force her to look at me. Her watery blue eyes are almost green among her tears, and my heart throbs with regret. She does not deserve this.

She continues crying for a moment, trying to wipe away tears that are still falling, before she nods and turns to go. "I'm sorry." She says, her voice barely audible over the heartbeat swimming in my ears.

"Don't be." I say. "You just want to help, my Leigh." I lead her to the door and escort her out, helping her wipe the last remnants of distress from her face. "I will see you tomorrow, Miss Leigh."

"Miss Max." Leigh turns and quickly leaves, and I watch her go for a moment, watching her voluminous form retreat down the street, and I feel a twinge of sadness that I had mistreated her. She just came to make sure I was okay and she left feeling like she has betrayed me and insulted me.

I head back inside and lower myself onto the floor, burying my face into my arms, and I stay there until Hercules comes to collect me an hour later.


End file.
